


Christmas Eve, and a little before that

by Voleste



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voleste/pseuds/Voleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Them love to celebrate Christmas and other activities prior to Christmas, in which Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer team up once again to figure out what's going on and in which an angel tells a demon he's being guided by a light and they should therefore follow it. Centerpoint? Lower Tadfield, and Crowley gets a little itchy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It is almost Christmas and I realised that is around this time last year I discovered Good Omens - I had been looking for the book for months and when I was on a German christmas market / Weihnachtsmarkt with a friend, we went into a huge bookstore because we were a bit too early and there it was in the English section. I started reading it after New Year's and I fell in love within the first few pages. The only other books ever doing that to me were, at the time, Harry Potter, and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. (After Good Omens I could also add Discworld to that small list, but that aside.)
> 
> So I wanted to write about a few of these characters and fall in love with them all over again. :D And of course, because who am I to resist, it's about Christmas.

It wasn’t quite Christmas yet, but the calendar wasn’t lying when it proclaimed it was December, and thus it was time to think about the best holiday of the year, according to the Them - apart from their birthdays, of course. 

Brian disagreed, saying he’d rather celebrate Christmas over his birthday, but that was because his rich aunt would come around and give him an incredulous amount of pocket money. He started referring to this sum as the annual treasure.

The wind was howling and it stormed; icy weather made its way through Tadfield. But it was perfect weather, because the weather was always perfect in Lower Tadfield, and the storm didn’t bother the Them in the slightest. 

No, on the contrary; nothing was better than enjoying your cuppa of hot chocolate in your blanket fort on the attic, while the wind lamented and sang, and the rain ruffled up a soft rhythm on the roof tiles.

However, the hot chocolate was left abandoned and at that time less hot than hot chocolate ought to be, because the Them was too busy capturing each other’s forts. Adam had been the commander of one blanket fort and Pepper of the other, the two children screaming about and ordering their one, single soldier around.

“In the name of the great hero,” Wensleydale stated gravely. “ I - ”

“It’s Nero!” Pepper said. 

“ - Nero, I come to capture this fort for the great British Empire!”

“That’s no fair,” Adam said. “I wanted to be the great British Empire.”

“Well, I thought of it first!” Pepper said.

“But Nero isn’t British,” Brian piped up.

“I am playing Nero now, aren’t I?” Pepper retorted. “And I am British, aren’t I?”

Brian looked sceptical, but didn’t say anything.

“Nero is a man,” Adam pointed out.

Pepper crossed her arms. “That doesn’t mean I can’t  _ play _ him.”

The rest of the Them considered this. It was for the first time Brian noticed the chocolate, abandoned his blanket fort and picked up a cup. Pepper saw this all happening and yelled at Wensleydale: “Soldier! Retrieve the supplies!”

Moments later they were all enjoying their hot chocolate, which could very well be dubbed as cold chocolate at this point.

“I saw a really big winter fair on television,” Brian said, lying underneath the blanket fort. The war was ceased after Adam and Pepper had called a truce. “It was in Germany. They called it the… the…”

“Weibnacht?” Wensleydale offered helpfully. He knew a bit about Germany as well, but none of what he read had been about christmas markets.

“I’m pretty sure it was Weibnachten,” Brian said. “Because it takes longer than one day, see.”

“I want a big Weibnachten fair,” said Adam, tasting the foreign word on his tongue. “That’d be sweet.”

 

And thus it happened. Lower Tadfield, as insignificant and pittoresk as it always had been, was now preparing for his first christmas market in decades. Many had not seen the need for a christmas market; those who were religious, went to the several Christmas services and those who were not, went to the bigger cities to get that typical Christmas gefühl and feel all warm and tingly inside.* 

 

_ * There were a few of things Germans truly understood when it came to food and spices, and one of these things was the magnificent craft of Glühwein. _

 

It snowed softly in Tadfield - the kind of good snow, snow that stuck nicely together to craft snowballs with. There were two massive snowmen in Adam Young’s garden and the Them had been busy building a third, when a young woman came by, walking with her bike next to her. She, unlike the Them didn’t seem so happy about the snow.

“Hello, guys, hello Adam,” she said, adjusting her scarf.

“Ciao, Anathema,” Adam said.

“Ciao?” she repeated.

“Yes,” Adam said. “It’s German. For the Weibnachten market, you see.”

She gave him an amused smile, but didn't say anything about it. “I was just about to go to the market. I was listening to the music from my cottage and it sounded good.”

“They got the church choir to sing carols,” Adam said with the air of someone who wasn’t quite interested in carols of church choirs, and only was in it for the marshmallow roasting across from them.

She smiled still, as snow continued to fall and attached itself happily to her hair, her coat and the rest of her. Slightly annoyed, she removed her now damp hair from her face. “Will I see you there?” she pressed on. “And you’ve got to swing by, sometime. I have some more magazines for you to read and I don’t want to throw them away. It would be such a waste.”

Adam nodded. “Yea,” he said, earnest. “I’d like ‘em.” 

Without another word Anathema continued her journey again, pushing her bike through the soft, thick snow. Although it had miraculously gotten an upgrade, and by now she did know how that had come to be, no bike was matched against the amount of snow on the road. Odd, she thought; there had barely been any when she left the house.

 

He couldn’t remember the details of the how’s, why’s and where’s, but there was one question he could answer, and that was the when. It had happened a few days ago; with Christmas fast approaching - only three weeks away, or rather a two and a half, as the angel had reminded him - they had gone out for dinner. As was growing custom in the past few years, the restaurant and its entire surrounding area had been decked out with the most garish Christmas decoration you could imagine. 

Aziraphale had said that while he appreciated the gesture, he was fairly certain things as Santa Clauses and Snowmen did not belong in a Christmas tree. To which Crowley had said that he was fairly certain the plural form of Santa Claus was still Santa Claus and a Christmas tree technically should not be included in the first place. 

It had all turned out quite messy.

However, three discussions, five bottles of wine and a particular good side of lamb later, he had agreed to  _ something _ he could not quite remember, but he knew it explained the fact he was driving his Bentley out of London, into the country, just off the highway, with the angel in the passenger’s seat next to him.

The Blaupunkt wasn’t blasting the usual music, but instead chose to play a tender and classical version of Silent Night* with three violins and a cello. Aziraphale was humming along, almost inaudible.

 

_ * Written by an Austrian priest in 1816, who went by the name of Joseph Mohr. Aziraphale remembered him fondly. He had also tried to get the original poem, but his efforts had been fruitless.  _

 

“Radiant beams from Thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace - ”

“I’d rather listen to Freddie Mercury’s version,” Crowley commented, taking a turn sharper than he’d ought to.

Aziraphale stopped humming. “Wasn’t he the man who wrote Stairway to Heaven?”

“Not quite,” Crowley said, and left it at that.

When the string quartet started the verse again, he turned off the Blaupunkt. An uncomfortable silence came over them and settled there. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“We should turn left,” he said.

“Left? Now left?” Crowley said, as they passed a crossroads. The brakes screeched and the rear wheels shifted slightly, trying to find their grip on the asphalt. 

“No, not now left,” Aziraphale said on an exasperated tone. 

The engine silently turned itself on and Crowley continued following the road. “When left?” he asked.

“I don’t know, a general left,” said Aziraphale.

He hit the brakes again. “How do you mean, a general left? That’s not how roads  _ work _ , angel, and you bloody well know it! Where are we going anyway? Why did I agree to drive you to wherever we’re going anyway?”

Aziraphale gestured vaguely to the left. 

With a groan, he started to drive again. After spotting another crossroads ten minutes later, he did as he was told, went left, and started wondering again what it was they were doing here. He could spend his day a lot better, after all. A demon these days was very busy indeed. Namely, avoiding all that was holy. There was a lot of holy these days.

“You’re a little tense, my dear.”

It was no question, and as such Crowley didn’t reply. 

“To the right, dear.” 

He complied, but not even five minutes had passed before Aziraphale talked again: “To the left, now, please.”

The demon groaned loudly and stopped the car, again. “Where are we going?”

To his surprise, Aziraphale had a difficult expression on his face, as if he just told him to choose between two extremely valuable, leatherbound books, and the book he wouldn’t pick would be burnt to ashes. There was no anger in his expression, though, because he wasn’t really going to burn down books. There had been enough book-burning for the rest of the century, he figured.

“I’m just following this feeling,” Aziraphale concluded. 

“Feeling?!”

“It’s this… oh, how to describe it… I just know we have to go this way. It is some sort of… good feeling. It’s a beacon of - ” he seemed to falter, trying to explain. “It’s a light guiding me towards… it.”

Where Aziraphale had begun to look slightly desperate, Crowley’s expression had taken on a very blank form. 

“So we are following the light to what, Christ Junior? A church? A holy site? I don’t want to get tangled up in your side’s business.”

However, Aziraphale had plastered his face against the window, trying to make sense of a sign posted at the crossroads. “More like the Anti-Christ, it seems,” he replied.  He tried to make it sound as if he was ordering a second bowl of olives, but it sounded as if he was ordered to have a nice swim with sharks instead. 

Realisation dawned on Crowley.

“Is this the same feeling as - you know? Last year?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, relieved the demon apparently understood what he was talking about. Sort of, anyway. 

He drummed with his fingers on the steering wheel before coming to a decision. “I’m not driving you there until you tell me exactly what’s going on. I can’t even remember what we talked about yesterday!”

“That is because you let yourself be intoxicated and didn’t sober up,” Aziraphale scolded.

“It prompted the humans around us to do the same. Come on, I was technically working. You're not the only one who works overtime in December.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Alright. If you pull your car to the side, I’ll tell you. You’re blocking the road.”

Blast. He’d hoped the angel wouldn’t have noticed.

 

There is something curious about Christmas. If one thinks about it, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. This is because there isn’t simply one Christmas; it is not a holiday, such as New Year’s or someone’s birthday. That is because those days traditionally follow the general rules made up by human society and in general carry the same meaning. Humans do celebrate it differently, of course, but that is humanity for you. 

Humans are so delightfully diverse. No wonder they were His favourite. 

Christmas however, is an entirely other thing. It has traditions, certainly, but it borrowed traditions from other places, from all over the world. If anything, Christmas is the embodiment of human desire. 

For those from Heaven, and those who believe in Heaven, Christmas is the celebration of the light in the dark - the birth of their saviour Jesus Christ. It doesn’t matter Jesus had not, in fact, been born late December. It does not matter that this day, was celebrated by the Romans, worshipping the sun. For these people, Jesus was the sun, and therefore it was quite alright. Sides were just sides, and pagans were just another group of people.

Heaven, however, liked to pretend otherwise.

For those from Hell, and those who might not have that much affection with Hell but are closer aligned to Hell than to Heaven, it is a great opportunity. In the last few decades, Christmas is speckled with capitalism, with greed and gluttony all over - Charles Dickens was ahead of his time. Christmas dinners, Christmas presents, the amount of commercialising the holidays - that last part had been one particular demon’s doing.

Hell simply revered during those days. They laughed in the face of Heaven, taking glee in the fact many people did not celebrate Christmas like Heaven wanted them to.

And then there were humans. Some of them celebrated Jesus Christ's’ birth, and others didn’t. Most of them just wanted to be with their family and their friends and enjoy a meal together. Perhaps share a present or two, or a whole lot more. What humans needed, was companionship. It was a basic human desire and it could take many, many forms. What Hell failed to realise, was that while Christmas had perhaps lost its original identity, they were still losing.

Whether the christmas markets were Heaven or Hell’s doing, no one was sure; but ultimately Christmas was from the humans, no matter how eager either side claimed their success.

 

Anathema picked up a wax candle in the form of a slightly droopy angel; the wax had had smeared out just a bit, giving it a sad expression and the wings were uneven. It was rather ugly, she found. It stared at her with black eyes, golden glitter from the wings now sticking on her fingertips. As she wiped off one hand, she wanted to put it back. 

Unfortunately, she made eye contact with the seller. 

“Only fifty pence,” the elderly man said.

“No, thanks. It wasn’t quite what I was looking for,” she said hastily.

“It is not a perfect model,” the seller agreed. “But the money is going to charity. No one else wants to buy the angel and I’ll have to throw it away.”

It seemed, that with Anathema’s recent protests, she had gotten quite the reputation. And with Tadfield being a small village, news traveled faster than a dog gobbling up human’s spilled dinner despite knowing he wasn’t allowed to have it. “Oh, fine,” she sighs.

And so she ended up with the wax angel in her canvas bag and fifty pence poorer. 

“The witchfinder finds the witch again,” a familiar voice said behind her. She hadn’t heard the voice in months, but she knew exactly who it belonged to. She turned around, studying his appearance. Still tall, with dark hair still, and still not handsome. But that was fine, she supposed; friends didn’t need to be handsome. 

“What’s bringing you here, Newton?” she asked, brushing her disobedient hair behind her ear again. 

His hair was almost completely hidden by the ridiculous woollen hat he wore. “Err, field work. There was, as he called it, suspicious activity around this area.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Impossible. I would’ve known. Besides, you still work with that man?”

Newt shrugged his shoulders, a bit stuttering. “The pay is rather nice,” he tried.

“Liar,” Anathema said. Then she hugged him. “It is good to see you again. Let me invite you for coffee, and you can talk about your suspicious activity. Although, aside from some good-natured, prone to pranking group of children, I don’t see what else would be strange about Tadfield.”

“Well - ” Newt began. 

“Apart from _that_.”

He fell silent. 

“Coffee?” she asked again.

He still looked worried - and looked even more worried when he saw the aforementioned children and a dog running past them - but gave her a small smile. “Yes, that sounds good.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley liked spending the holidays in big cities. The holidays didn’t do much for him, per se, but it was one of those times to get into Hells good books again. It was one of the rare events that scored him points. Even Hell understood what he was doing during the holidays.

For every happy soul, there was an unhappy soul. Christmas forced those to come together, and forced others to spend the days in bitter agony. Marvelous.

He had planned to spend the holidays in London, again. London in general was a good city. Dreary, moody - the weather helped.

Once the angel had explained why they were, in fact, not in London, but somewhere in the country where not even all the roads were asphalted yet, Crowley remembered it all too well. It didn’t mean he was happy about it. Especially not after the point Aziraphale had wanted to get across. Oh, it had gotten across. Definitely. He ought to have done something about it.

“You are actually enjoying yourself,” the angel had pointed out, when Crowley complained about how Christmas was being shoved in his face. He had shot him an indignant look and raised his glass almost haughtily, gracing that with no reply.

“You are,” Aziraphale plunged on. “You enjoy complaining about these kind of things.”

“Naturally, my job is easy this time of the year,” Crowley said, twirling his glass between his fingers. “People are tense and uptight. I only have to do this -” he snapped his fingers with his free hand, and brought the glass to his mouth with the other, “ - and they crack.”

Aziraphale said nothing.

“As festive as your holiday gets, there are humans who only feel more lonely about it.”

Aziraphale still didn’t say anything, but his smile lost some of that charming tinge as he focused back on his dessert.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he grinned.

“It has nothing to do with the point I wanted to make,” the angel said, carefully draping some strawberry sauce over his ice cream.

“I’m right, though,” Crowley said. “You’ve got to admit Christmas is far from perfect.”

“I never said it was, dear.” Now he sounded tired. “I wish to show you something.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, slightly.

“And what may that be?”

“If I was able to tell you, I wouldn’t have needed to show you, would I?” Aziraphale said, annoyance creeping in his voice.

“Right,” Crowley said. “Right. Fine.”

 

They both stood near a stall, huddled underneath the small canopy. Newt was cradling a cardboard cup with a black liquid in it. He suspected it was something more than coffee, but he was too worried to start thinking about that, now. The weather didn’t do much for him; his cheeks were red, but instead of it looking endearing, it just made him look sick.

“I tell you, I was reading through the newspapers - I would not, err, really trust myself with a computer - ”

Anathema hid a smile behind her woolen scarf. And rightly so, she thought.

“And there was something odd, again. The weather. And you know, the last time I saw the weather being… _perfect_ like that, the End of the World was about to happen.”

“That it did,” Anathema agreed.

“And we had, erm.”

“Once,” Anathema warned him. “Once. Agnes Nutter predicted so.”

“Well, you never took a peek at her second book,” Newt said, his ears now colouring the same red as his cheeks. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Anyway.”

Anathema was quite preoccupied with her cup of coffee. “Did you see aliens?” she suddenly asked.

“What?” And gone was the moment, gone were his thoughts in which he had buried himself in. Preferably with sand on top.

“Like I said. Did you see aliens?”

“No,” Newt mumbled.

“Then I don’t think it’ll be the end of the world,” she said. “It’s just Adam, wanting to have a nice Christmas.” She drank the rest of her coffee, however held onto her cup; it was still slightly warm. “Spend Christmas with me. I’m on my own.”

A heavy silence settled.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said.

Newt didn’t know to what she had said yes to, but he nodded. Quick and fleetingly, she gave him a kiss on his cheek.

“Agnes said - ” he began, startled.

She didn’t hide her smile behind her scarf anymore. “I know what Agnes said.”

 

It had begun to snow more heavily, never mind the fact it wasn’t snowing elsewhere in the surrounding area. The snow was piling itself up; enough snow to build impressive snow castles, forts and other medieval structures, but not enough to put a damper on things. Then again, according to Adam, no amount of snow would put a damper on things.

It smelled nice. There was the smell of snow, of course - snow _had_ a smell, even if people didn’t know it. It smelled of clouds and crystals. Pepper had just rolled her eyes at that, but inwardly admitted to herself that she smelled the snow, too.

There was the smell of roasted marshmallows, and burnt logs underneath it. There was the smell of apples, and the smell of soup, and the smell of candles and flames. There also was the smell of grown-up drinks, but Adam didn’t particularly like that smell. A lot of the grown-ups did, though, so he didn’t do anything about it.

People enjoyed themselves. As the Them dashed past the church choir for a second time, Adam saw the Johnsonites on the other side of the market. For a moment he thought about telling the others, but something stopped him. He couldn’t entirely pinpoint what that had been.

He stood still - their leader had seen him. He didn’t know what prompted him, but he stuck up a hand to Greasy Johnson; not in an obscene gesture, but a rather friendly one. He waved. They stared at each other. For four precious seconds, nothing happened.

Greasy Johnson waved back. Adam grinned.

“What are you smiling at?” Pepper inquired, her hair more white than red at this point. She followed his gaze.

“I reckoned I’d say hi to Greasy Johnson and his gang,” Adam said. “It wouldn’t have been the same without them, don’t you think?”

Pepper huffed. “I’ve been trying to tell you that before,” she said. “It’d be no fun.” She didn’t wave, however, for the Johnsonites were gone. Gone to where? But that thought had not even left her mind, before she fell something hit the back of her head. It was soft enough to not hurt, but hard enough to let her know that yes, someone had done that on purpose. Some snow trickled through her scarf and through her jacket from her head to her neck, slowly downwards.

She turned around and saw their rivals standing there. She crossed her arms. “Ready to lose?” she said.

Brian and Wensleydale had come looking to see where the others had gone off to, and watched what was happening.

The Johnsonites - carefully wrapped into winter clothes, from head to toe - all had a couple snowballs in their arms.

“Nah, but you are,” their leader said.

The first snowball was thrown by Wensleydale.

In fact, everyone was so surprised, including the Them, that they didn’t see the Johsonites coming closer and attacked.

It was war.

 

“Adam is still at it,” Aziraphale sighed as they had gone back into the car. Crowley was following the road to Tadfield. Slowly but surely the temperature was dropping and it began to rain. Another few miles closer the rain began to transform into snow. By then, Crowley had put the heater on inside the Bentley, even while there was no heater to put on.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “As far as I know, no one has come down to have a talk to him.”

“Or up,” Aziraphale reminded him. “He’s the son of, well - ”

“I know,” Crowley said. Then: “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

It was silent for a moment. “Dear, do you ever have a good feeling about anything?”

“Excuse me - ”

Neither wanted to finish the sentence.

The snow was piling on thick - the roads barely usable anymore. It was no problem for Crowley.

“I’d rather not be here,” Crowley suddenly said. “Considering everything.”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about.” But Aziraphale did, and they both knew that he did.

They arrived in Tadfield sometime later. Crowley parked the car in the middle of the street and left the engine on.

Aziraphale let him, because there was no way a human being could’ve willed any vehicle through the thick snow. As for the engine, well, he supposed Adam would take care of it. This was his territory, after all.

It was not hard for them to find Adam. That was because Adam found them. He took a good look at them.

“Are you here to start messin’ with people?” he asked. “‘Cause I think you can better leave if you do.”

Crowley was torn between giving him a cocky reply and nodding sweetly and turning around. Because as much as he wasn’t going to succumb to some eleven year old’s wishes, this was also the Antichrist. And the Antichrist got a free pass for a lot of things.

Next to him, Aziraphale seemed offended.

“Dear boy, you know us,” he scolded.

“Tha’s not true,” Adam interrupted. “I don’t know you much at all.”

“We’re not here to do anything,” Aziraphale clarified. “I want him to show the meaning of Christmas.”

Adam’s face brightened. “That’s alright, then,” he said. “I reckon you didn’t get a lot of chance to celebrate Christmas, seeing how your people feel about the whole thing.”

Crowley groaned from embarrassment. Everyone had to phrase it so bloody _sappy._ He didn’t _do_ sappy. Besides, the problem was not about how Hell felt about Christmas. It was how they didn’t feel.

He was about to reply, something real nasty, just to show that whatever that Adam Young boy had in his mind, he was still a demon, thank you very much, before something soft hit his jacket. It still stung.

“Twenty!” a young, female voice announced.

“No fair, you are counting Picky, and I had hit old Picky first!” a likewise young, but this time decidedly male voice answered.

Slowly, Crowley peeled off the snow, just as Aziraphale became their next target.

“How _nice_ , bringing me here and visiting this _cute_ , idyllic village,” he hissed towards Aziraphale. “These kids are throwing snowballs at us. Snowballs! They don’t have respect for us. I’ll teach them respect.”

“Ahem,” Aziraphale went, nodding with his head towards Adam.

Crowley had momentarily forgotten him. “Oh. Right. I’ll cease my activities. For now.”

The Antichrist stared at them serenely - and in that moment, he was so much more than an eleven-year-old boy - before running off to join his friends, two groups of children throwing snowballs at each other. It had been relatively silent on the market, but now the church choir resumed, louder than before. Crowley cringed at the sound. They were slightly off-key and he couldn't even do anything about it.

“Shall we have a look?” Aziraphale offered.

Crowley glowered at him, but complied. “When we get back, London is going to get it,” he said in a low voice. “To make up for the time I lost.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale said distractedly and guided him firmly towards the center of the market. If he played his cards right, there wouldn’t _be_ any time to make up for the time he lost.


	3. Chapter 3

It hadn’t stopped snowing. This meant a few things; the small town was effectively cut off from the rest of the world, stopping people from entering or leaving. Newton Pulsifer’s Wasabi stood there on the side of the road; it was completely unrecognisable at this point. 

It had also meant Adam Young was maybe not actively using his abilities, but he was using them nevertheless. 

It was a rather frightening thought.

Crowley had not felt trapped by the snow and had driven both him and Aziraphale back to London. They had stayed there, right until Christmas Eve, when Aziraphale had somehow gotten it in his head to spend the day in Tadfield.

It had been a simple ceremony; short but sweet. The church had been full; it had been warm and the Christmas tree had been spectacular. Candles were lit and tinsel fell off the tree, into people’s hair.

The priest had looked rather confused and surprised about it all, when he said Amen and wondered where the rest went he had wanted to talk about. When they had gotten out of the church, it had been snowing again. There was hot chocolate for the children and hot chocolate for the adults, because if there was anything that hadn’t been on Adam Young’s mind, it was alcohol.

Pepper had been forced to wear a dress and Brian had been forced to clean up completely, but there had still been some dirt behind his ears. They had been there with their families, stealing glances at each other. Anathema and Newton had been there also, in the back. Aziraphale had been there also, alone. But never once had he felt lonely.

It had been a nice Christmas and it had been a nice New Year’s. 

Just before school began, the snow started to melt on the roads. The Wasabi however still refused to start.

“I think it’s broken,” Anathema said, her neck wrapped up in a scarf and her hands wrapped around a mug. It was still chilly, and they were standing just outside the village, next to the car. “Maybe you should just leave it there.”

“I’ve got to go back sometime,” Newt said, peering at the car door and wondering why it didn’t want to open, now. 

“Why? What’s so important in London that you won’t find here?” 

“My job, for one,” Newt replied. 

“Your job,” Anathema repeated.

“That’s right.”

She took a sip from her drink and watched how Newt walked around the car, frantically muttering about how he really ought to get it up and starting again. It was no use, however; the doors didn’t open and everything else had been frozen, too - even the bits that couldn’t have been. She pushed her mug in Newt’s hands the third time he went around the car. 

“Drink,” she ordered. 

He did so.

“I think it’s time for another job,” she idly said. “You do know how stifling it is if you stay in one workplace for too long. It’s bad for you.”

He stared at her. She stared back. It lasted for just a moment, before she loosened her scarf, blew her hair out of her face and said: “I’ve got to do everything myself, don’t I?”

Before he could ask what she meant, she kissed him, light and sweet. The mug was placed on the roof of the car, where it lay forgotten.

A dog ran by. It had a funny, inside-out ear.

 

“Somebody ought to tell him,” Crowley said around a mouthful of cake. 

The angel sighed deeply; he had just finished pouring in tea for the both of them and everything had been  _ pleasant.  _ Leave it to Crowley to ruin it.

“Surely we can spend the day without having to think about the Antichrist,” he said, a little testily. He put some sugar cubes in his tea. 

“I’m just saying, he’s getting bolder and I don’t think he even realises it,” Crowley said. “Other villages nearby had also reported snow - ”

“ - Crowley - ”

“- not to mention he made it snow when he listened to the radio. You heard that man, dreary rain turning into snow within a second, and that was miles and miles away from Tadfield. And he found it such a funny coincidence, yes sir, and how nice the radio people got to enjoy the snow too - ”

“ - Crowley - ”

“ - and telling me I really ought to be present at the service next year and I don’t think I can even refuse him. It’ll be suicide either way, because what self-respecting demon would go to a Christmas Eve service on Christmas Eve? But then he’ll have had another year and his powers will only grow, and I don’t think I’ll be physically able to refuse him. Not to mention you knew! You felt him all the way from Tadfield to London and that’s quite the distance, so - ”

“Crowley! Are you a nun?”*

Crowley promptly shut up. A serene silence settled there. That was, if you only counted the quiet inside. The quiet outside was nowhere to be found; it was two days after New Year’s, and some of the English were still celebrating. As a matter of fact, it was just past two in the morning and several drunk people passed the store.

 

_ * As a matter of fact, Aziraphale never properly met those of the Chattering Order, but he had heard stories.  _

 

Aziraphale deliberately took a breath. “Thank you.” He stirred in his cup. 

Crowley could’ve done with some wine, but he also felt they had to do this sober.

“About the matter of Adam Young…. I think he’ll listen to us,” Aziraphale said. 

The demon shook his head and started stabbing his cake. “No. We can’t force him to listen. It’ll only escalate and who knows what happens, then.”

“No one said anything about force, dear. Truth be told, it seems to me you’re scared of the young man.”

“Not scared,” Crowley bit. “Wary. He is the Antichrist, even if he chose the side of humans.” 

Aziraphale was suddenly relieved he had kept his sunglasses on his head. He had no desire to see those eyes right now.

“He’s also eleven years old,” Aziraphale reasoned.

“Not in a few years, he isn’t,” Crowley muttered.

He placed a hand on Crowley’s, effectively stopping the cake from becoming an unrecognisable mess. In defeat, Crowley put down the fork. When he picked up his cup, his hand shook slightly. There was something utterly terrifying about seeing someone shaken up that much after they had spend a six thousand years on the small planet. Oh, there had been some nasty surprises down the road, but lately it had been relatively peaceful. 

Aziraphale gave him a smile. “Being forced to celebrate Christmas is not so bad.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Crowley said.

It lay unspoken between them. Aziraphale suppressed a shudder. He supposed it  _ was _ concerning to think about Adam Young and how the mind of an eleven-year-old Antichrist worked. If Adam wanted something, there would be no stopping him. Crowley was right. It was a terrifying thought.

“Think about it this way,” Aziraphale said. “He could have been forced you to celebrate Hanukkah.”

He quickly took a gulp from his tea after that. Then: “He’s wrong, by the way. You cannot force people to celebrate anything. Oh, you can drag someone by his sleeve and make him sit prettily during all the formal ceremonies, but if that person’s heart is not in it…it should be their own choice, anyway. Otherwise it wouldn’t have  _ meaning. _ ”

Crowley had picked up his fork again. “I think I agree with you,” he said, feeling a lot more cheerful than he had been five minutes before. “And I never saw the point of celebrating.”

“In general?” Aziraphale asked, eyebrows raised.

“Not in general. I like to celebrate the New Year. Lots of firework in the air. Polluting it bit by bit, scaring people and animals with the lights and hard sound…”

The angel had that annoyingly knowing smile on his face, which was not quite a smile and hovered around the closest an angelic being could get to a smirk. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“What?”

“Do you have to justify everything you enjoy?”

“Yes,” Crowley said.

“Hm-hm.”

“Fine,” Crowley said, willing a bottle of wine on the table, because he was not going to have this conversation sober. “I also enjoy looking at it because it’s nice. And I like the idea of a new year.”

“Clean slate, and all that?” Aziraphale asked sweetly.

He started to form a reply in his mind before he realised what the angel was doing. He swatted with his hand on the table and pointed towards the angel, eyes narrowed. “Not fair. You were deceiving me.”

“I didn’t do anything of the sorts,” Aziraphale said, pouring the wine in two glasses that had not been there before. “I simply asked.” His smile was still there. 

 

Adam Young had had a talk with Aziraphale on Christmas Eve. It was after the Service; Adam Young’s parents were talking with the other adults, paying no attention to their son. No one was paying attention to Adam Young - not even Anathema Device, who usually could spare a few minutes for the boy. No, she was rather occupied.

No one was paying attention to Aziraphale either, and so Adam went.

“So, where’d you leave him, then?” he asked the angel. The angel, who had been sniffing and enjoying the sheer  _ smell  _ of the hot chocolate and the  _ love _ in the air felt caught in the act and looked appropriately guilty. 

“Who are you talking about, dear boy?” he said, lifting a cup from a tray nearby.

“The other one,” Adam said. “You were goin’ to show him the meaning of Christmas. Is a bit hard if he’s not here, I reckon.”

Aziraphale let out a small sigh. “Oh, you’ve got to start small. I don’t expect you to understand, but when you have lived so long as we have… it’s difficult to make drastic changes. Baby steps, I believe they call it.”

“Who?” Adam wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “His kind of people, probably.”

Adam peered at him. 

“I know he’s here. He’s sitting in that pretty car of his until you get back. Why’s he doing that?”

Aziraphale usually wasn’t at a loss for words, but there was something about the Antichrists’ genuine questions that made him rethink his words carefully. Part of it was the knowledge of what Adam Young did back in summer. Part of it was the mystery of what else Adam Young could do.

Part of it was because he was just a child, trying to understand. 

“Because… sometimes, he’s too good for his own good. I think it confuses him.”

“Nah,” Adam corrected. “It confuses  _ you. _ ”

Aziraphale looked at his empty cup. It had been a good hot chocolate. He sat down, on a tree stump. In the background people were still talking, and children were running around, yelling, throwing snow at each other. 

“Adam…do you regret anything?”

Adam looked at him with wonder. “Yes. I regret never doing my homework until the last day and I regret having called Dog stupid when he didn’t want to fetch the stick.”

The angel smiled at him. “That’s good.”

“No, it’s not good! I felt very bad about it and Dog didn’t want to look at me for at least four hours.”

“Everything’s fine between you and the dog now, though, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked. 

Adam nodded. “Yeah.” The two looked at each other. Aziraphale pushed himself up and pulled his scarf tighter against the sudden, chilly wind. When Adam saw what he was doing, the wind quietened.

“I’ve got to go,” Aziraphale announced. 

“Right you are,” Adam said cheerily. “Merry Christmas.”

“Likewise,” Aziraphale mumbled. He left Adam there, got himself a nice, big cup of hot chocolate and made his way out of town. 

It was different, just outside of Lower Tadfield. If he concentrated enough, he could hear the people near the church, but apart from that it was quiet. The animals were in the shed; not even stray cats or wild mice made a sound. It was dark out here; no light except for the stars and a waning moon. 

It was in odd contrast with the lively village. 

The Bentley stood next to an old Wasabi; the Bentley was older, but only one car would make it out of Lower Tadfield today. The Wasabi was stuck in the snow, two of its wheels completely buried underneath an icy layer.

He found Crowley leaning against his car. The car door was open just slightly, and Aziraphale could hear a soft murmur of music. He seemed to be in thought; his gaze was upwards, towards the stars, his sunglasses swept back on his head. Aziraphale followed his gaze. The stars were shining bright today.

“Took you long enough,” Crowley said, just after letting the angel wonder if he should break the peaceful silence or not.

Aziraphale joined him. He wanted to say he talked to Adam. He did not. Instead he offered Crowley the cup. “I brought you something.”

Crowley’s eyes went towards the cup. “What’s that? Are you bringing me mulled wine?”

“Not quite, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said. “But it’ll warm you up all the same.”

He took the cup. 

“You didn’t have to bring me here,” Aziraphale said. 

“I know. I just needed to get out of London. The whole Christmas cheer was becoming overwhelming. It can choke a person.”

“Hm-hm.”

He took a sip from the chocolate. The music, coming from the Blaupunkt, ceased; a quietness came down on the two of them, but it wasn’t a heavy quietness. It was the kind of quietness that was like a comforting fleece blanket; the kind of quietness that was just there. The kind of quietness that made you feel warm. And safe.

“Thanks,” Crowley said, wondering about the last time he thanked someone. He couldn’t remember.

“You’re welcome,” Aziraphale smiled. “You’re very welcome.”

 

It was going to be a nice year.


End file.
